


To Bloom Beneath the Earth

by MissMariaReynolds



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Greek Mythology, F/M, Hades and Persephone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-21
Updated: 2017-02-21
Packaged: 2018-09-26 00:41:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9854306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissMariaReynolds/pseuds/MissMariaReynolds
Summary: A short Jonsa Hades/Persephone story.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I’m pretty disappointed in myself because I don’t feel like I’ve done anything new to the story tbh (besides using a confusing narrative format maybe). I just liked the idea. And I had trouble with balancing book vs. show vs. Greek god characterization so I'm very sorry if this is horribly ooc....Apologies if it resembles anyone else’s fic. Anyway,   
> Sansa=Persephone  
> Jon=Hades  
> Catelyn=Demeter  
> Davos=Hermes (I said fuck it to accuracy and chose a character I liked rather than one who might fit better).  
> Ghost=Cerberus (because I like the occasional laugh)

The dark man was not so skilled at hiding.    
  
Sansa noticed him two moons ago, when the sky was gray as slate and the earth was singing with water. Her toes were curled in the slick grass and she was tracing a fingertip over a rain-washed flower petal when she felt the ground stir. A sensation came tingling up her spine, like a shiver and a flame at once, and she turned to see the man across the field. He startled immediately, and she had hardly a moment to take in hair like coal and a cape seemingly made of shadow before he vanished. When she crept up to the spot that he was standing in, she saw scorched footprints on the ground. 

 

Sansa had known then that a god had been watching her. She was too sheltered by her mother to know just who he was, but perhaps a sheltered life meant she had never known fear. Perhaps because of this, she felt only curiosity.

  
  


It was days before she saw him again, and she was not alone. Sansa was sitting on a cool, dry rock beside a stream on the outskirts of the forest, surrounded by the Naiads she considered her friends. Sansa was weaving herself a circlet of sun-warmed wildflowers when she caught sight of him across the stream. He had not yet noticed that she saw him, seemingly preoccupied by the deft movements of her hands. Sansa felt a blush come over her cheeks as she noted his features; dark, shining curls, broad shoulders, a pouting pink mouth surrounded by a neatly kept beard. The cloak of shadow, dark and fluid as smoke, curled around his frame. Sansa wondered briefly what the material might feel like. He must have come to the realization that she had ceased her weaving, and met her eyes. When he did, she gave him a tentative smile. The dark god frowned back at her, and faded from sight.

  
  


Sansa had almost grown used to the dark god’s quiet presence. Sometimes, when she wasn’t under the watchful eyes of her mother or the nymphs, she would wander closer to wherever he stood. Sometimes she would pretend not to see him, if only to keep him with her longer. Other times she would sing quietly and smile to herself when he inched closer.

  
  


On this day, he came to see her in the dusty light of dawn. The world felt new and drowsy,  the rosy touch of the infant sun reaching out to follow the tired purples of the passing night sky. The sight gave Sansa hope, and she did not feign innocence of his position. Straightening her pale pink dress, she walked deliberately across the clearing that separated the pair. Perhaps he was startled by her boldness, as he did not disappear. He held her gaze steadily until she was a few strides away. His eyes were as gray as stormclouds. 

 

“I should leave,” he said suddenly, in a voice like smoke and honeyed wine. His eyes shifted to the sky, as if waiting for someone to interject from above. 

 

“Why?” she asked, taking a step forward. “You only just arrived.” Sansa took the fact that he had not yet left as a sign that he was not yet willing to leave, and so she took another step until they were less than an arm’s length away. 

 

“Then I should not have come to begin with,” he said, eyes downcast. 

 

“Have you been telling that to yourself each day, or did the thought occur to you now?” Sansa asked, perhaps too playfully. His gaze fell upon her face and laughter faded from her mind. His eyes were dark and brooding, yet soft enough to make her veins feel like they contained melting gold. Her voice was hushed when she asked, “Why do you come?” 

 

He reached out slowly, as if a sudden movement would scare her off like one would spook a doe. He found the ends of a fiery curl and tugged lightly, watching it unwind. “I had forgotten the sun’s heat on my skin,” he said, words parting through the cool morning air and holding her still. His fingers skimmed the smooth skin of her bare arm, leaving a trail of gooseflesh and fire where he touched. He loosely circled her wrist when she moved into his space. “I had forgotten the scent of the earth and the sound of song.”

 

“And you remember now?” she whispered, even if she knew the answer. When she smiled, his lips turned up as well.

 

“I am beginning to,” he replied.

 

………………….

 

Jon was the ruler of bones and ash. He had no business among the living, and surely that included a young goddess who appeared to be made of life itself. He had always been wary of love, for who could find love in death? A kingdom populated by the dead was lonesome, however, and even gods grew tired of the chill, of silence.

 

_ She  _ was vibrant. When Jon rose from his desolate domain, he saw a torch’s light in a sea of green. The flame licked up the back of a girl, tall and slender in wisps of sky blue silk, delicately picking a bright yellow bloom from the ground. She turned her fresh, unblemished face to the clouds and brought the flower to her nose. He returned to his rightful place before she spotted him, but she did not leave his thoughts. It was three days before she became aware of him, on a day full of storm, and he thought for a moment that her eyes were made of rivers.

  
  


After the day she first spoke to him, he did not see a reason to hide anymore. She sought him out, and he was never too far from whichever meadow she chose to wander, or whatever forest she wished to roam. She liked to sing, even if she did not realize she was, and nothing made him more content than hearing her sweet, even voice. Today was a day she asked her questions.

 

“Do you grow flowers in the Underworld?” she asked him, her voice like birdsong and honeysuckle. He frowned.

 

“Not like your flowers, and only in certain places.” They were dark, drooping, and smelled vaguely of decay. He didn’t think she would enjoy hearing about them, so different from the perfumed, richly hued blooms that adorned every inch of her, of her world. 

 

“Perhaps I could help you grow some,” she said pointedly, flashing him a hopeful smile. It seemed that the more conversations they shared, the less subtle her hints at visiting  _ his  _ world became. It made him ache to think of the disappointment on her face if she saw it, the disgust or even fear she may feel towards the souls he watched over. He chose not to reply, but watched as she bent to pick a cluster of small blue flowers from the base of a nearby tree. She laced her free hand in his and led him to a shaded spot nearby. He missed the sun-like warmth of her grasp immediately, but was satisfied to sit beside her. They lounged in a tranquil silence, accompanied only by the occasional rustle of wind and the brush of her fingers as she wove the flowers together. The watchful sun drifted lower in the sky, passing underneath the thick treeline. 

 

“To brighten your world,” Sansa later declared as she placed the finished crown on his brow. He nearly startled, having been distracted by the long lines of her slender neck. For the first time in many ages, he felt heat rise on his cheeks. 

 

“You are too kind to me,” Jon said, feeling a smile arrive unbidden on his face. She returned the expression, appeased by his reaction. 

 

“If you will not allow me to enter your kingdom, I would at least like to give you a token to remember me by, when you are away.” Sansa said, bringing a hand up to straighten the crown. He frowned and caught her hand.

 

“I cannot forget what is always on my mind,” Jon told her. It was now her face that turned a pretty pink when he placed her hand against his cheek. Her eyes widened slightly. 

 

“You favor me with such lovely words, for one who insists he cannot give me what I wish for,” Sansa said, scarcely above a whisper.

 

“And what is it that you wish for?” Jon asked her. She paused then, winding her free hand into the curls at the nape of his neck. 

 

“Is your heart too much to ask?” Sansa inquired as she moved closer. He met her halfway, their lips meeting as his eyes fell shut. Her lips were petal-soft and hesitant on his, impossibly warm and inviting. Her grip in his hair tightened slightly when he caught her bottom lip between his, sucking gently and pulling the softest sigh from her. His hands found her waist and he pulled her closer, deepening the kiss as he was consumed by her scent, her hair, her skin, her taste. He was only slightly surprised when she nipped at his lip, pulling away slightly to stare at her with what must have been the stupidest grin to ever decorate the face of a god. 

 

“Come with me,” Jon said. She wound her arms around his neck and raised an eyebrow. Her eyes shone brighter than the stars above them.

 

“One kiss and your mind is changed?” Sansa said with a giggle. She pretended to ponder. “If you insist.”

 

………………….

 

Upon descending to the Underworld, Sansa could understand why Jon was lonely. It was cold, and barren, and in the endless horizon there was only shadow and the murmur of countless souls. Five rivers swept through the land, though they did not gush and sparkle like she was used to. Jon’s home was less a palace and more a stronghold, though no war would ever marr its plain, unmoving stones. His gardens were dreary and nearly colorless; greens and browns so dark they appeared black, and even to her it was difficult to distinguish the living plants from the dead, or whether they were both or neither. What caught her eye was a strange red fruit hanging from a tree, as precious as a ruby in such a lackluster setting. 

 

Jon looked almost as dreary. “It cannot seem like much,” he said, as if stating a fact. She turned from the fruit and took his hands in hers. 

 

“I can make anything grow,” Sansa said, though she had her doubts. His eyes softened, and she made up her mind. “Show me your world.”

  
  


Jon showed her the Asphodel Meadows, where ordinary mortals live in neutrality among pale, ghostly flowers. He brought her to Elysium, where distinguished heroes and demigods could thrive or start anew. Then he led her to the gates of his domain, where a giant white wolf with blood-red eyes guarded the entrance.

 

“His name is Ghost,” Jon said as he stroked the beast. She smiled and held out a hand for him to sniff.

 

………………….

 

Jon was surprised to find that Sansa had not asked when they would return to the surface. She seemed content to spend her time in his garden, touching the plants and singing until, for the first time, life blossomed beneath the earth. Blue roses climbed the gates, while blooms of every shade filled the trees and carpeted the ground. Many times he would lean against a tree and watch, both awaiting her departure and fearing that he was growing too accustomed to her warmth at his side. 

 

He seemed to exist in a state of constant turmoil, torn between desiring one who should not belong with him and wondering how he could possibly exist away from her now that he knew what her voice sounded like when she had just woken up, and what a rainbow looked like beneath the living world, and how she tasted between her legs. The night he first took her to his bed, she had said blissfully in his ear,  _ “You must never leave me,” _ and he wondered now how she ever thought he could. 

  
  


It was only a matter of time before his precarious joy was interrupted. A message arrived from Mount Olympus, and with it came the messenger himself, Davos.

 

“Catelyn is not pleased,” he told Jon with a pointed look. “She refuses to allow crops to grow. The earth is covered in ice. Mortals are starving.” 

 

“What would you have me do?” Jon demanded. “Send Sansa away?” Davos shifted, but said nothing. Jon paused for a moment before saying, “We are married.”

 

“But Sansa  _ can  _ leave,” Davos reminded him, unsurprised. “From what I gather, most on Mount Olympus are not pleased with the union.”

 

“I will speak to Sansa,” Jon said. “That is my reply.”

  
  


Jon found his queen in her garden, facing one of the thriving pomegranate trees. She spoke before he had reached her.

 

“I saw Davos,” she said. “My mother wants me back.” It was no question.

 

“If you-” he began. 

  
“If I return, she will never let me out of her sight,” Sansa said over him. “I love my mother and I  love the earth, but no god or goddess can tell me that I cannot love you.” Sansa turned to face him, meeting his eyes with steely determination and ruby-stained lips. “It is only half the year,” she said sadly, and vanished in a pulse of light. He rushed to where she once stood, and saw the open half of a pomegranate, blood-red seeds glimmering up at him. 


End file.
